


Kill Your Darlings, Kill Your Demons

by worrisomeme



Series: The Selection [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Flashbacks, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: The Department of Spousal Selection. Anyone not married by age 25 gets a spouse assigned to them by the government. And it’s fine, really. The matches are almost always a perfect fit. Steve Rogers is a successful tattoo artist who’s about to have his world turned upside down when he’s matched with a one Bucky Barnes. As they navigate their new life together and learn to deal with each other’s baggage, will their match prove successful, or will their inner demons tear them apart?The events ofThe Selection, from Bucky's point of view.





	Kill Your Darlings, Kill Your Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Okay you guys, this has been a _long_ time coming and it's finally here! Hope you all enjoy it!! <3 <3 <3

“Bucky!”

His eyes snap open as he finally wakes up. They meet the stunning green of Natasha’s instantly as she huffs out a relieved sigh and settles back onto his waist, his arm pinned to his side with her calf.

“Happy birthday,” she says, half-forcing a smile as she reaches down to wipe tears from his cheeks. “You hungry?”

Bucky shakes his head. The smell of burning flesh still stings his nostrils. He thinks he’s going to puke.

“Clint gone already?” he asks instead, voice rough.

Tasha lets out a little hum of confirmation and nods as she finally climbs off of him. “You okay?” she asks, voice quieter this time.

Bucky sighs and shrugs a little as he pushes himself up. “Just another nightmare,” he says, brushing his hair out of his face.

Natasha helps him pull his hair up into a messy bun before finally crawling off the bed. “You want me to go with you today?” she asks, changing the subject, as she fusses about his room, flicking through clothes in his closet. “I took the day off, you know.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, still feeling groggy and a little sick. “The fact that I’m having to do this means I’m a grown up, you know.”

Nat snorts and turns so he’ll see her roll her eyes at him. “I know,” she assures him. “It also means it’s your birthday. Going down to the office will only take an hour or two, we’ve got the rest of the day to celebrate.” She flashes him a toothy grin. “Clint’s getting out of work early, too. Did you have anything in mind you wanted to do?”

“You know I’m fine staying in with pizza and drinks and movies,” he says, finally swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “We don’t have to do anything special.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at him melodramatically. “Technically there are very few things we _have_ to do in life, and even those are really, really, technically a choice too, if you think about it the right way. Or maybe the wrong way.”

“Sorry,” Bucky sighs as he tugs on his shirt and stands up, he knows he’s being pedantic, “you know what I mean. It’s just not a big deal. Is there still coffee?”

“Just made a fresh pot,” Natasha confirms, following him out to the kitchen. “And it _is_ a big deal, Bucky Barnes. You made it through another year.”

“Another stolen year,” he muses glumly. “Another year I shouldn’t have had.”

Nat smacks him in the back of the head for that one. He knows he deserved and it doesn’t whine. “That’s it,” she says. She walks past him and turns, leaning against the counter right next to the coffee maker, arms folded across her chest, so he has to see the unamused look on her face. “I’m taking you out for your birthday. We’re going to go get pizza and drinks and do karaoke!”

“I’m _not_ doing karaoke,” Bucky replies with eyebrows raised.

“Well, we’re not staying here for you to mope all night. So either figure out something you want to do or I’m taking you to that karaoke bar Clint likes so damn much.”

“Fine, fine,” he hisses, hands up in surrender, “I’ll think of something, okay? Ya happy now?”

 

*

 

Natasha finds Bucky draped over his desk chair, his head hanging over the arm and his legs splayed, one over the other arm and one, at least, hanging off the seat. His eyes are closed tight and he’s taking deep, slow breaths.

“You alive in here?” she asks him, the smell of coffee wafting into the room with her.

“Kinda,” he replies, finally cracking his eyes open to look at her. “Depends on if that’s for me or not.”

She chuckles and holds out the mug in her hand. “Of course it’s for you,” she says, lightly kicking the back of his chair. “Have you even gotten a chapter written this week?”

Bucky’s face scrunches up as he makes grabby hands at the mug until she gets close enough to hand it off. “Don’t you judge me Natalia Arianova.”

“No judgement,” she says with another laugh. “What’s got you so writers blocked?”

Bucky heaves a sigh and forces himself upright and proper in the chair. “Just freaking out,” he says, taking a long sip. Oh god, bless her. Just like he likes it.

“About what? The book?” Nat asks, pushing his laptop back as she perches on the edge of his desk. “Because everyone’s going to love it.”

“No, no,” Bucky says as she rests her feet in his lap. He sets the mug down and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. “About the Selection. It’s just a huge life change, adjusting to this sudden, new relationship and another person, and I’m worried I’m not ready. Plus, it’s been a couple months, you know? They said it doesn’t usually take longer than that.”

Nat smiles a little and shrugs, crossing one leg over the other and nudging his shoulder with her foot. “I wouldn’t worry about the time,” she says. “There’s nothing wrong with it taking longer, you know. Maybe your soulmate hasn’t had his birthday yet.”

Bucky sighs again and leans back in the chair, taking her top foot and rubbing it gently. “I mean, I guess,” he grumbles. He’s not going to admit he might not have thought about that. No way.

“Plus, I mean, you know how extensive that damn survey is,” she goes on, a knowing smirk on her face. Cocky bitch. She knows she’s right, and she knows _he_ knows it. “Running an algorithm through that many factors can’t be easy.”

“I know,” Bucky sighs one last time. And he does, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it.

 

*

 

After getting the congratulatory call Bucky jumps every time his email tone goes off. He’s trembling and he’s trying to get some writing done to distract himself, but it’s not working. He’s too nervous waiting to find out about this guy. Natasha and Clint have turned on Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, but that’s not working either. His eyes keep flitting back and forth between his laptop screen and the TV screen. His hand is at his side, clutching tightly at his phone.

“Was that it?” Clint asks the next time it happens, and when Bucky looks up both of his friends are looking his way.

He presses the home button and looks at the screen and lets out a sigh when he sees it’s just spam. He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved, but his shoulders slump either way. “No,” he says, and his voice sounds a little strained.

Natasha pats his knee sympathetically as Clint turns the movie back on.

Not five minutes later it goes off again and he jumps again. His heart is pounding out of his chest when he presses the home button again, but it’s nothing compared to when he reads the subject line “Congrats on your match!”

He doesn’t even realize his friends have paused the movie or that his eyes are wide, his jaw clenched, until Nat’s hand is on his knee again.

“I take it that was it,” Clint chimes.

He nods his head, swallowing hard.

“You gonna read it, kotyenok?” Nat asks him slowly, her fingers tapping gently, slowly, soothingly at his leg.

Bucky pauses for a minute, considering, then shakes his head just as slowly. His eyes never leave his phone screen despite the fact that it’s gone black again.

“You’re going to have to read it eventually,” Natasha reminds him. “And, hey, remember when you were all worried cuz you didn’t have a match yet?”

“I’ll read it for you,” Clint offers.

“Just give me a second,” Bucky chokes out.

He takes a couple of deep, labored breaths, then finally unlocks his phone and opens the email.

“His name is Steven Rogers,” he reads aloud, his voice and hands shaking. Natasha squeezes his knee. “He’s taking Barnes, because of the books probably, but I’m moving into his place, obviously. And the wedding is- “ he lets out a little distressed noise and his voice goes up an octave, “next Friday?!”

“Wow! That’s fuckin’ fast,” Clint says, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Probably because you had to wait for so long,” Natasha reasons. “It’s already been four fuckin’ months. And there’s no point in dragging it out, since traditionally the new couple doesn’t talk or meet or anything before the wedding anyway.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that,” Bucky groans, slouching in his seat. “I was thinking about asking him to meet. Should I not?”

“I think you should,” Tasha says with a supportive smile. “It’ll make the wedding day easier.”

“Even though it’s coming up so quick?”

“ _Especially_ since it’s coming up so quick,” she says.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Clint adds with a little shrug.

Bucky skims the rest of the message, chewing on his bottom lip. “His number’s in here,” he says after a minute. “Should I text him and ask?”

“Yeah!” Natasha cheers him on.

“Or should I call him?”

Clint groans, laughing, and reaches over his wife to shove at the brunet’s shoulder playfully. “Stop worrying,” he says.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Nat says, much more helpful.

Bucky takes a few more deep breaths while he mulls over his options. Is he ready for a phone call? For hearing his… _fiancé’s_ voice. Oh god, no. No no no. He’s not ready.

“I’ll just text him,” he says. “What if he’s out or busy or something?” It’s a flimsy excuse, he knows. He knows his friends see right through it. But he doesn’t really care much, and they don’t call him out on it.

He unlocks his phone again and pulls up his contacts, adding in his new fiancé’s number.

[ **Bucky:** Hey Steve]

His finger hovers over the send button for a long moment before he sucks in one last deep breath and presses it.

Then promptly panics.

“Shit,” he says out loud, already typing out another message. “Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid.”

[ **Bucky:** I hope this is the right number. Though I can’t imagine they’d have it wrong.]

“Jesus fucking christ,” he mutters mostly to himself, his fingers flying over his phone screen. “Why do I do this to myself? Why do you guys let me interact with other human beings?”

[ **Bucky:**  Or that you would have, like, changed it already.]

[ **Bucky:** ANYWAY lol This is… uh, your fiancé I guess lol]

Clint is laughing at his pain like the fucking traitor he is, but Natasha is a good friend and muffles her laughter as she gently pries his phone from his hand, reading over the messages quickly.

“You’re fine,” she says, the laughter finally breaking free as Clint reads over her shoulder and just laughs harder. “I bet he’s just as nervous as you. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky snatches his phone back and chews his bottom lip raw. “How long do you think it’ll be before he answers?” he asks.

“Depends on how much _he’s_ freaking out,” Clint snickers, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from his wife.

“Want me to turn the movie back on?” Nat asks, gently rubbing along his shoulders.

Bucky is about to answer when his phone goes off.

[ **Steve:** Oh, hi. James, right? Yeah, you got the number right lol]

What does he say to that?! Oh god, he seems so annoyed. Bucky’s starting to think he made a huge mistake. Maybe the whole match is a mistake. Or maybe, like Nat said, he’s just freaking out too. He makes a little strangled noise as he types out a response, his chest and shoulders tight.

[ **Bucky:** You can call me Bucky :) Everyone does]

Right, cuz that’s normal.

[ **Bucky:** It’s a nickname. Long story.]

What the fuck is he doing? Who let him interact with other human beings? For fuck’s sake, he’s an author and basically a goddamn hermit for a reason.

[ **Bucky:** But anyway, I know it’s still kinda frowned upon by traditionalists and all, but if you don’t mind I’d like to meet up.]

Nat, who’s reading over his shoulder this time, pats his arm with a wide smile. “See?” she says. “That was totally normal. You did great Buck.”

Bucky turns and glares at her. “Thanks,” he says, monotone.

But as the seconds stretch to minutes he’s starting to panic even more. His chest is tight and his lungs are tight and his heart’s beating too fast and he feels an anxiety attack coming on. Fuck. He fucked it up. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Get out of your head,” Clint says, kicking him lightly as he restarts the movie. “Watch the aliens, watch the sad robot, everything will be okay.”

Bucky nods numbly and tries to get enough air into his lungs as he looks up at the TV. “Everything will be okay,” he mutters to himself.

He jumps out of his skin when his phone goes off again.

[ **Steve:** What did you have in mind?]

“That’s not a no,” Nat says while Bucky’s already typing out a response.

[ **Bucky:** Coffee? Tomorrow? Or Saturday. Or sometime next week. Or whenever works for you]

[ **Bucky:** Do you even like coffee? lol]

[ **Bucky:** Well, if not you could still get tea or something]

The thought crosses his mind for what feels like the millionth time tonight, _Why do they let me interact with other human beings?_

[ **Steve:** I love coffee. Tomorrow morning? 11 work for you?]

And Bucky can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as the tension finally _finally_ starts to leave him a little.

“See?” Nat says, gently elbowing him in the ribs.

[ **Bucky:** Yeah, that sounds great :D]

Then he flashes what he thinks is probably a nervous smile and takes a selfie, sending it to his new fiancé. He knows he doesn’t look his _best_ right now, but he wants to send the picture over before he chickens out. So no primping.

[ **Bucky:** So you know what to look for :)]

His heart actually skips a beat when he receives a picture in return, an adorably pale blond with freckles and eyes like a summer sky and a smile to die for, tattoos peeking out at his collar and covering his arms as he’s holding his hand up in a wave. Holy _shit_.

“Wow, look at _that_ ,” Clint chimes, waggling his eyebrows at the brunet.

“Very cute,” Nat confirms with a smirk and a nod.

And Bucky thanks god or whoever, because it had to have been divine intervention that caused him to get matched up with the most gorgeous man on the face of the planet.

 

*

 

“I’m gonna get him flowers,” Bucky says matter-of-factly the next morning as he flicks through his closet, trying to figure out what to wear. “Should I go with casual or fancy?”

“It’s a hundred degrees out,” Nat replies with a deadpan. “Why the fuck would you dress fancy?”

Bucky throws up his arm and shrugs and his voice is up an octave as he says, “I mean, technically this is kind of like a first date, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I try to impress him?”

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not getting married either way,” Clint chimes with a snort.

Bucky shoots him a glare but Natasha just snickers.

“What kind of flowers?” Natasha asks him.

Bucky heaves a sigh, properly distracted, and turns back to his closet. “I dunno,” he grumbles, like a petulant child. “I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know what he likes.”

“What if he’s allergic to flowers?” Clint chimes in again, earning himself another glare from the brunet and laughter from his wife.

“I mean, he’s got a point,” Natasha says through her giggles.

Bucky groans and turns back to his closet once more. “You guys are the worst,” he mutters, dejectedly going through his clothes again. “What should I wear? Natasha, dress me,” he says, turning to the redhead and flashing her puppy dog eyes.

She snorts and rolls her eyes fondly, shoving him away as she approaches the closet. “Go sit down,” she says, “I’ll figure it out.”

In the end, he ends up in something casual – denim shorts and a simple black tank. Natasha pulls his hair up, too, with a reminder that “ _It’s a billion degrees out, Buck”_ when he protests. But he’s still unsure on the flowers right up until the moment he passes a flower shop on the way to the café and sees the _perfect_ bouquet on display – a literal rainbow of all kinds of flowers. The second they catch his eye he knows he has to get it.

His heart stops a little when he makes his way into the coffee shop and sees the blond at a table near the back, head bowed as his pencil dances across the page of what looks to be a sketchbook. He tucks the flowers behind his back and can’t help the goofy grin spreading across his face. God he’s cute. _Fuck,_ Bucky thinks, _I am_ so _gone._

Even as Bucky approaches the table, Steve doesn’t look up, too focused on his work. And he just can’t help himself.

“This seat taken?” slips from his lips before he can even stop himself. _Wow, nice dad joke_ , he scolds himself. _Hot, Bucky._

The blond actually jumps a little and Bucky notices the hearing aids in his ears when he does look up. Then he feels bad. He hopes he only startled him because of his focus, and not because of his trouble hearing. Shit. Rookie mistake, and he should know better.

“Oh, um, no,” Steve says, motioning to the chair and turning bright pink in the most adorable way. **“** Hi, hello, it’s all yours.”

And once again, Bucky thanks god or whoever. He’s not sure what he did to deserve such luck, but he’s grateful for it. He’s so happy, butterflies fluttering in his stomach and his chest, that he can’t even be too self-conscious. Part of him, though, can’t help but wonder, can’t help but worry about what the other man thinks of him with his missing arm, the jarring scars that time will probably never fade, if they haven’t by now. There’s no way the blond can look at him and feel just as lucky as he does. Right?

“I wasn’t sure what would be your favorite,” Bucky says, having successfully psyched himself out, pulling the flowers out from behind his back and holding them out to his new fiancé. “It’s nice to meet you Steve.”

The blond turns a darker shade of red and tries unsuccessfully to muffle a nervous giggle as he stands (and, oh, he’s even smaller than the picture made him look and it’s fucking adorable), his hands shaking just a little as he takes the flowers. “Oh my god,” is all he gets out before he’s pressing his nose to the delicate petals and inhaling deeply.

So, not allergic then, Bucky thinks. That’s one victory at the very least.

Steve hugs the flowers to his chest gently once, letting his eyes slip shut as the sweetest smile crosses his face, then sets them down by his messenger bag on the seat next to him. “Thank you,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as his face turns impossibly redder.

“You’re very welcome,” Bucky replies with what he knows is still that dopey smile.

They both hesitate for a moment, unsure on whether they should shake hands or hug or do anything at all, before Steve finally motions to the chair in front of the brunet once again and says, “Well, here, sit down. What do you drink?”

“Vanilla latte, iced. Thanks,” Bucky says. His smile grows as he takes the offered seat and he can’t help but watch the blond as he squeezes between the tables and heads to the counter. He notices the other’s clothes – or, rather, he notices all the ink stains on that lime green Shield Tattoos tank top hanging off his frame and the tight denim shorts that show off so much sweet, inked skin. All the tattoos make his stomach flip a little and he vaguely wonders if the tank top is from his work or just because it’s his regular shop.

He turns back to the table (mostly so he’s not staring like a creep when his fiancé heads back) and notices the sketchbook still open there across from him. He can’t stop himself from leaning over to get a look. The page is full of cute and creepy designs that Bucky would think were for Halloween, except it’s July and the number thirteen is included in most of them, so they’re probably for something for Friday the thirteenth next month. Maybe he sells stickers or pins online, or maybe his initial guess at tattoo artist was right. Maybe he was just bored and nervous and doodling. Bucky thinks he’ll have to remind himself to ask.

Steve’s blushing again when he sets the latte down in front of him and slides into the seat across the table. Bucky thanks him again, trying to decide if he should ask now, or wait until the small talk part of the kind-of-technically-not-date date is over.

Then he decides _fuck small talk_ and asks, “So you’re an artist?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Steve says with a little nervous chuckle, flipping the sketchbook closed and slipping it into his bag. “A tattoo artist, professionally,” he says, motioning toward that ink-stained shirt.

Bucky chuckles and nods, allowing his eyes to briefly trail over the other man’s body. “I was gonna ask,” he says. “You know, between the shirt and all your tattoos.” There’s a beat and then he asks, “What about non-professionally? What medium do you prefer?”

“I’ve been really big into watercolors lately, but I use all of them,” Steve says with a smile and a shrug. Bucky thinks he could listen to him talk all day. “It really depends on the project,” the blond is saying. Then he asks, “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a writer,” Bucky replies, and he sees something click in the other man’s brain.

“Oooh,” the blond crows, chuckling, “okay, okay, so that’s why I’m taking your name then. That makes sense,” he rambles (and it’s adorable, just like everything else about him), nodding as he does.

This time the brunet’s smile is bashful as he sips his coffee. “I know you’re supposed to and all,” he says, “But if you want to keep Rogers, I won’t be, like, offended or anything.” He chuckles, trying to relieve some of the tension that’s starting to return to his shoulders.

But Steve smiles and leans forward on an elbow and Bucky’s stomach does a flip again. He’s just so _cute_. “We’ll see how it goes,” he jokes with a wink. The brunet’s stomach does another flip and he can’t stop the little giggle that escapes his lips. Then Steve’s smile softens and he says, “And, hey, I mean, if you don’t want to move into my place- Oh!”

Bucky almost jumps at the sudden change in the other man’s demeanor. Suddenly he looks excited as he scrambles for his bag, digging through it quickly while the brunet just gives him a curious look. After another moment of digging he pulls out a key, grinning proudly as he holds it out to his fiancé.

“I got up early and made you a copy,” he says. “But yeah, if you don’t wanna move into my place you can totally stay where you are while we look for a new place instead or whatever.”

But Bucky’s sure he’s grinning from ear to ear as he takes the key and immediately pulls out his keyring to slide it on. “I’m sure your place is great,” he says. If Steve’s willing to take his last name, the least he can do is not pull the guy out of his own space. And he’s not exactly super attached to his room at Nat and Clint’s. “Though I appreciate the offer,” he goes on, setting the ring down once he’s got the key on it. Then an idea flashes in his head and he quickly signs in his one-handed variation, “ _I’m fluent, by the way. If you like to keep your aids out at home.”_

“Seriously?!” Steve laughs, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open just slightly as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, I know they asked about languages and shit on the questionnaire,” he rambles, more thinking aloud than actually talking to Bucky, “but still.” He’s shaking his head again as he signs a heartfelt, “ _Thank you_.”

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” Bucky signs back. “My friend Clint –“ he says, “we’ve been friends for, like, at least ten years now – he’s hard of hearing, so all our friends sign at least a little bit.”

“All of my friends are in some stage of learning too,” Steve explains, a proud smile on his face, “depending on how long they’ve known me.” He shakes his head a little, “That’s amazing Buck. It really means a lot. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Bucky’s sure he’s absolutely beaming. He can remember the first time he signed to Clint back when they were teenagers, back when he’d first lost his hearing and was just learning himself. The way his face lit up was the best thing Bucky’d ever seen.

He opens his mouth, but what he assumes is Steve’s phone cuts him off, blaring Sleeping with Sirens from inside his bag. _And_ he’s got good taste in music? This guy just keeps getting better.

“Shit!” Steve curses under his breath, snatching his bag off the seat next to him and starting to dig through it. “Shit, sorry, hold on. I’m _so_ sorry,” he rambles, holding a finger over the flash that’s going off on his phone as he pulls it from the bag. “She’s not seriously already there, is she?” he asks the person on the other end of the line, completely forgoing a greeting. _So,_ Bucky thinks, _it’s either work or family_. “It’s only, like, eleven-thirty. You know normally I wouldn’t care, but…” he trails off with a sigh.

 _But I’m with my future husband_ , Bucky imagines him saying, and it sends a wave of tingles through his body.

After a moment of listening Steve groans and flashes Bucky an apologetic smile. “Geez, alright,” he says to whoever’s on the line. “We’re only like fifteen away, so let her know I’m on my way.” There’s another beat and then Steve blushes and rolls his eyes and says a sharp but loving, “Goodbye dear,” and hangs up.

“Work?” Bucky asks, trying to make his face sympathetic. He’s grateful every day that he gets to set his own schedule, that he doesn’t have to answer to anyone but his publisher (who he _does_ have a tendency to stress the fuck out, to be fair).

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes again as he pockets his phone. “Our appointment isn’t until noon, but she’s already there. I’m so, _so_ sorry,” he says, slipping his bag over his shoulder and gently picking the flowers up, cradling them tenderly to his chest. The way he holds them makes Bucky wonder if anyone’s ever done sweet things like give him flowers before, and it both simultaneously breaks and warms his heart to think maybe he’s the first to spoil him like that. “But definitely text me or something,” the blond goes on, shaking him from his thoughts.

“I will,” Bucky says, standing as Steve does, flashing the other man a wide smile. “I’m really glad we did this.”

“Me too,” Steve replies, and Bucky knows he means it when he sees the relief in the other man’s eyes, the set of his shoulders.

They both hesitate again, but then Bucky decides _fuck it_ and steps forward, pulling Steve into a hug (because maybe, he thinks, Steve hasn’t gotten enough of those either). “See you soon,” he says, and presses a soft kiss to the blond’s cheek.

“See ya,” Steve replies, breathless and blushing. And for a half a second Bucky thinks he might have overstepped, until the other man’s lips brush against his cheek.

He watches as Steve makes his way to the door, his heart racing in his chest, lighter and giddy and feeling so relieved and sure. Steve glances over his shoulder and blushes when he catches Bucky’s eye, then waves one last goodbye before pushing out into the summer heat.

 

*

 

Bucky swings by the apartment to pick up Clint and they grab sandwiches from Natasha’s favorite deli on their way to her office building. When they slip into her office the first word out of her mouth is, “Spill.”

Bucky snorts and holds out her sandwich. “I don’t even get to eat first?” he asks.

“Hell no,” she replies with a grin, pushing one of the chairs across from her out with a foot. “What happened? What’d you think?”

Bucky chuckles as he and Clint settle in at her desk. “Well, I ended up buying the flowers,” he starts, picking a small piece of bread from his sandwich and nibbling on it.

“And was he allergic?” Clint teases.

“No,” Bucky says matter-of-factly, shooting him a pointed look. “He loved them, and _boy_ I loved him.”

“Gay,” Clint jokes with a wink.

“Very,” Bucky replies, laughing. “He’s fucking gorgeous and adorable and so sweet. He’s an artist and he has an _amazing_ taste in music. Oh and he’s got hearing loss too. You should have seen his face when I signed to him!”

“Sounds perfect,” Clint says, grinning. Contrary to his teasing, Clint would never want anything but the best for his friend.

“What kind of an artist?” Natasha asks, leaning back in her chair.

“A tattoo artist, professionally,” Bucky mimics his future husband’s words from earlier.

“Oh yeah?” Nat’s even more interested now, eyebrows lifting. “What shop does he work at?”

Bucky lets out a thoughtful hum as he chews a bite of his food and his face lights up as he remembers. “Oh! His shirt said Shield Tattoos, and he pointed it when he was talking about it. So probably there, right?”

Natasha’s already got her phone out, typing away. “Looks like they’ve got an Instagram,” she narrates. “Oh man, they do good work. Let’s see which are his. Aaaand there’s his personal account.”

“I wanna see too!” Clint half-whines, leaning across the desk to try and sneak a peek. Nat pushes him back a little and sets her phone down on the desk so they can all lean over and look. His personal Instagram is mainly full of the tattoos he’s done and art he’s working on at home in his free time – mostly paintings.

“He’s good,” Nat muses. “And it’ll be nice being in a house with another creative type, ya know? Not that me and Clint aren’t, we just don’t do it full time like you guys.”

“He’s _amazing_ ,” Bucky swoons. “He already made me a copy of the key to his apartment and everything. He said he got up early to make it.”

“He really is fuckin’ cute,” Clint chimes in as they scroll past a rare selfie.

“So, are you finally done freaking out about this?” Natasha asks with a laugh.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky replies, flopping back into his seat. He has all day to browse his future husband’s social media if that’s what he wants to do. “I’ve definitely got more confidence in the process,” he laughs. “This is gonna become love _quick._ ”

 

*

 

Bucky starts with his stuff in the living room, a few treasured appliances in the kitchen, some rarely-used beauty products in the bathroom, dumping them into boxes. After all, they’re the things he doesn’t use daily. Not that anything is going to be packed up for very long, but still. It’s not quite as daunting of a task as his room is, though he still feels the permanence of this all in his bones – a feeling he had been vaguely trying to avoid.

Before he knows it he’s already back in his bedroom, staring down his extensive bookshelf with a suitcase open on the floor. He’s not sure how long it takes before he moves again, but he knows he’ll have to eventually pack these up. He mostly uses his kindle anyway, he might as well start now. Other than his closet this is probably the biggest task, right? Might as well get it over with.

He takes the first book in hand and hesitates another long while before he can bring himself to place it into the suitcase. He gets about fifteen more in there, one at a time, slowly, before his hand traces the spine of his special edition copy of the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe. He pulls the book from its shelf, but instead of setting it in the suitcase with the others, finds himself sliding to the floor and flipping it open to the first story.

He’s at Annabel Lee in the poems section by the time he completely misses the sound of Clint’s keys in the front door, kicking off his shoes, his footsteps padding their way into his room. He’s halfway through the Tell-Tale Heart when he only half-notices Natasha’s heels on the hardwood. A few moments later she’s barefoot in his doorway, Clint following behind. Bucky still only half-realizes they’re there.

“ _How_  long has been like this?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Clint shrugs and leans against the doorframe. “Can’t say for sure,” he replies, worrying his bottom lip. “He was like that already when I came home. Dunno how long before that.”

Natasha sighs and taps a foot out of impatience or concern. “Well, at least he got a good start on the rest of the house,” she says after a moment. There’s another beat and then she steps further into the room, taking a slim paperback from the shelf and whacking him on the head with it. “Yo,” she scolds, “time to focus, goth king of the universe.”

Bucky yelps and starts whining instantly, dropping the book in his lap to rub his head. It hadn’t hurt much, not really, but he glares up at her anyway. “What the hell Tash?”

“What time did you start packing?” she asks, dropping the book unceremoniously into the suitcase and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I dunno…” Bucky grumbles, picking up the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and placing it back in the suitcase among the others more carefully this time. “Like ten? Eleven?”

Clint sighs and rolls his eyes fondly as he turns on a heel. “I’ll go order the pizza,” he calls after himself.

“And if I’m home now, what time is it?” She looks at him expectantly.

Bucky’s eyes go wide and he scrambles for his phone to check for sure, but it’s dead. “At _least_ five-thirty, five-forty-five,” he admits sheepishly. “Assuming you didn’t come straight in here.”

“Ding ding ding,” is all she says before finally uncrossing her arms, holding out a hand to help him up. “Which means you haven’t eaten or had anything to drink or done anything productive in god knows how long.”

“I got the living room done,” he tries with a smile that comes out more like a grimace as he stands. “And the kitchen.”

“And then you freaked out and read basically the entire Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe in one afternoon.”

“I didn’t freak out!” Bucky protests, finally setting back to his task on tingly, barely waking up feet. “And, hey, it could have been the Complete Works of _Shakespeare_. That one’s in here too.” He plucks it from its shelf and holds it up for emphasis.

Nat grabs a slightly thicker book, hardcover this time, and whacks him on the shoulder with it. For emphasis. “You freaked out a little,” she says matter-of-factly and adds a muttered ‘ _smartass’_ in Russian.  “It’s going to be fine. Now let’s hurry and get these books packed before the food gets here. Me and Clint will help with the rest of the room after.”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and manages a weak smile. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

 

*

 

Bucky’s actually even surprising himself with the level of calm he’s managed so far today. He didn’t freak out getting showered or dressed or on his way to the courthouse or even once they got there. He and Steve have been texting all week and to say he has a crush is an understatement. He knows it’s probably being aided or at the very least sped along by the circumstances, but still. What’s wrong with that? They’re going to be married from here on out, there’s nothing wrong with him crushing on- okay, falling in love with- his own husband. The Selection process has been carefully honed for generations to do exactly that, hasn’t it?

And Steve is gorgeous and hilarious and smart and  _so_ so talented. It makes his heart race a little just at the thought. And, shit, if the Selection process could accurately predict that Nat and Clint would be a good match for each other- shit. No one thought that one was gonna last, and yet here they are happier every day. So maybe he’s a little nervous- excited. But he’s also got that surprising, uncharacteristic level of calm. He has to believe it’s going to work out. He has to. It’s happening either way.

The woman at the front desk directs them toward the small room they’ll be in and while they wait they chat merrily with the chaplain. He’s been doing this for a long time, he tells them, and he hasn’t seen a Selection match go wrong yet. At the sound of the door opening, Bucky turns just enough and catches Steve’s eye and his heart skips at least two beats in his chest. His suit is impeccable, perfectly tailored, hair styled and eyes bright, accentuated by a little bit of liner around them.

“ _He’s even cuter in person_ ,” Natasha whispers in Russian and Bucky just nods dumbly, a stupid grin on his face he’s sure.

“Hey,” he breathes as Steve and his friends approach them. He can’t help but let his eyes trail along Steve’s frame. He wants to remember this moment, every damn detail of it, for the rest of his life. “You look amazing.” One of Steve’s friends has stepped away and is taking pictures already and Bucky’s gonna hafta remember to talk to him later about getting those emailed to him.

Steve turns the most adorable shade of pink and the sweetest little shy smile creeps across his face. “Thanks,” he mumbles, then adds, more sure of himself, “So do you.” The friend to Steve’s left clears his throat and flashes him an expectant look – not too far off from one he might see on Natasha if he dared to turn and look. Steve flushes a shade darker and laughs nervously. “Bucky, this is Sam,” he says, motioning to him. “The one with the itchy trigger finger is his husband Riley,” he adds, motioning to the blond taking pictures.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky says, only briefly glancing at the couple. He can’t help it, honestly. He just can’t take his eyes off his to-be husband.

Both men return the sentiment, the blond more excitedly than his husband. Natasha on his left elbows him in the ribs just a little more roughly than he’d like and Clint next to her starts snickering.

He introduces them and they exchange their greetings, then the chaplain claps his hands once, smiling from ear to ear, and asks, “Alright, are you boys ready?”

The ceremony is as depressingly bland and impersonal as Clint and Natasha’s had been, though minus an… _incident_ or two. But when Steve slips that ring onto his finger – a beautifully carved silver band with small red gemstones inlaid and a heart-shaped red stone as a centerpiece (something Bucky’s almost positive Steve had custom designed) – he’s pretty sure he’s more excited about the whole thing than he is nervous.

 

*

 

Bucky had insisted he treat Steve and their witnesses to a beautiful dinner at a very fancy restaurant Natasha had recommended after the ceremony. He’d set it up earlier that week, wanting something adjacent to the receptions real weddings have. Being the hopeless romantic he is, he was positively floating the entire time his and Steve’s friends were hanging out for the first time. It’s normally a step that would come further into a normal relationship he knows, but everything goes so fast with Selections, it just felt right. He loved being able to spend time with his new husband and their friends. Steve, however, had been nervous. He’d been trying to hide it, but Bucky recognized the anxiety easily. He saw the blond’s shoulders slump with relief when Bucky had begged out for the night. By the time Steve’s sliding his key into the lock his hands are shaking just a little.

“You ready?” he asks the blond softly when he hesitates. Bucky tries to ease his own mind, tries to assure himself it’s just nerves or maybe how little he ate, adrenaline, something logical like that. But he can’t help but wonder if maybe Steve is regretting this, if he hates everything about it, if he’s second-guessing being stuck with a cripple for the rest of his life. Maybe he’d have rather ended up with a woman long-term. Or maybe, he tries to remind himself, he’s just scared because he just got married to someone who is essentially a stranger. Maybe he’ll be fine in the morning. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t help.

Steve’s smile is strained as he forces out a laugh. “As I’ll ever be,” he says and pushes the door open.

Bucky’s stuff had been delivered while they were out and it’s odd for him to see the the small piles of well-labeled boxes with his handwriting stacked up around a strange apartment he’s never even seen before today. His own little wave of jitters washes over him at the sight of those boxes just waiting to be unpacked, the empty bookshelves staring at him expectantly.

Steve’s smile is still nervous, but a little less strained, as he turns to face his new husband, arms out. “Home sweet home,” he says, and Bucky can’t help but grin.

“Just as nice as I pictured,” he says and gives the place a proper look. He wonders how this feels from Steve’s perspective, a stranger’s boxes in his home. Should they have gotten an entirely new place after all? Well, they have time to think about that later, right? They have all the time in the world now, don’t they?

Steve gives him a brief tour around the apartment and ends in the bedroom. “I don’t know about you,” he says, chuckling quietly as he starts to remove his tie, his ulterior motives suddenly clear, “but I am about _done_ with this suit.” He turns his back to Bucky again as he starts to remove the rest of the offending clothing.

“God yes,” he agrees with a giggle. He hadn’t even realized how excited he was to get into his pajamas until he starts stripping down to his own boxers.

Steve lets out what sounds to be his first full, genuine laugh of the night (a sound Bucky instantly falls in love with) and when Bucky glances up he can see his shoulders have relaxed just slightly since the suit has come off. He can’t help the dopey grin that spreads across his face as he soaks in the sound of that laugh, the sight of his new husband in front of him. _God_ is he beautiful. All lithe, delicate, inked skin, freckles dancing across bare patches on his shoulders, that perfect shade of blond hair just tickling the base of his neck. Those hands that drop a shirt to the floor, rest on slight hips, brush hair out of his face. He wants nothing more than to rush forward and wrap his arm around that waist, hold him close, press kisses to those freckles, feel their skin pressed together so softly. He’s overwhelmed by the feelings that swell in his chest, by the desire to love and protect and worship this man for the rest of his life.

“So neither of us likes formal wear then,” he only half-hears Steve joke. “Next formal event we have to go to, it’s pajamas all the way.”

The blond turns to him when he gets no response, concern etched across his features.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathes. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just- You are _so_ beautiful. You know that?” If he doesn’t, Bucky wants to show him. He wants to show him every second of every day for the rest of their lives.

A blush blooms dark on Steve’s cheeks and his hands unconsciously clench into fists as he stares down at his feet. “I dunno about all that,” he mumbles. “Not like you or nothin’.” It makes Bucky wonder what the other man sees when he looks in the mirror, what he sees when he looks at _him_. He’s too wrapped up in emotion to be thrown by the compliment he hadn’t expected.

“Oh I do,” he says, ignoring the flattery. He can’t help but step closer, resting his hand on the blond’s waist. “I know. Beautiful. Is this okay?” he reminds himself to ask, just above a whisper, as Steve starts to tremble in his grasp.

The pink on Steve’s cheeks turns crimson as he gives a timid nod, daring to properly look Bucky in the eyes for the first time all day. “Hell,” he whispers, and his voice cracks on the short word, “if you weren’t so progressive I’d probably be face-first in the pillows right now, if you know what I mean.” His nerves break through his tone and the attempted joke falls flat.

“I would never make you do something you don’t wanna,” Bucky reassures him, his face settling into a frown. “You can always say no to me. And I mean that about anything, not just sexual stuff. I swear, I won’t ever get mad.”

Steve smiles and Bucky can see him relax a little further. “Alright,” he replies, glances down just slightly. It’s just then that Bucky realizes how close they are now, practically chest-to-chest, nothing but a sliver of air separating their bodies. Hesitantly, the blond slides his hands up the other man’s chest, fingers tracing across the intricate scars along the left side of his body, shoulder, the short stump where a whole arm used to be, lifetimes ago. “The same goes for me,” he says. “And don’t ever be afraid to ask for anything, either.” He chuckles, but it still sounds nervous.

“Same goes for me,” Bucky agrees, his arm wrapping around Steve’s waist. “Can I ask you for something now, then?” he asks, gently pulling Steve in closer until their bodies are flush against each other. Steve swallows hard and drapes his arms over Bucky’s shoulders as he nods. “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky can feel Steve’s pulse hammering through his skin, and he’s sure Steve can feel his. There’s only a fraction of a second’s hesitation before Steve nods again. Bucky smiles and closes the final inch of space between them as he presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Steve whimpers softly at the contact and it sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of how long it’s been since he’s been intimate with anyone, and he wonders if maybe it’s been the same for Steve.

“Still okay?” Bucky breathes against his lips, nuzzling their noses together as his fingers trace patterns across the small of the other man’s back.

“Yeah,” Steve manages, squirming under him as he arches his back, tips his head back just slightly. “Yeah, still okay.”

Bucky smiles against his lips before pressing forward for another kiss. He nibbles lightly on Steve’s lips, drawing a quiet moan from the smaller man. Spurred on by the blond’s encouraging reactions, he inches them toward the bed until Steve falls back onto the mattress with a quiet ‘oomph’. A nervous laugh slips past his lips as he pushes himself higher up on the bed.

Bucky climbs on to join him, chuckling at just how adorable his new husband is, and crawls up to kneel between Steve’s legs where they’ve fallen open in invitation. He can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks as he rests his hand just above the blond’s knee.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again. He hovers over his new husband, trying to memorize every inch of his face, every curve and scar and freckle, meanwhile the smaller man bashfully avoids meeting his eyes. Bucky chuckles softly before leaning down, pressing tender kisses to his exposed neck and jawline. “Let me know if this stops being okay Stevie,” he murmurs between kisses, nipping and sucking gently at the skin from time to time, tongue tracing along the tattoos there. “God, how’d I get so lucky?” he muses.

Steve squirms and moans quietly under him, so responsive to his ministrations. He gently tugs Bucky’s hair free from the hair tie and runs his fingers through it, sending more shivers through the brunet. He leans up for another, more heated kiss before moving back down his neck and across his collarbones and shoulders, slowly exploring every inch of skin. This is their first time being intimate, their wedding night, he wants to take his time, properly worship every part of his new husband. He wants it to be a night they’ll never forget.

Steve is trembling under him, hands shaking as they run through his hair, along his back and shoulders, nails digging in lightly whenever Bucky stops to nibble at a particularly sensitive spot. Bucky feels himself tremble too and wonders if Steve can feel him the same way. Bucky whispers praises into Steve’s skin. He can’t believe he’s so fucking lucky.

But then, out of nowhere, Steve’s whole body tenses up and he starts hyperventilating. Guilt starts to flood Bucky. Did he hurt him? Did he trigger some kind of episode or something? Shit. He pulls back instantly, hovering over him, brow furrowed in concern and fear.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” he asks. “Did I do something?”

Steve shakes his head, but the motion is jerky. He’s not getting enough air into his lungs, and Bucky is quickly starting to recognize the signs of a panic attack. The guilt twists tighter in his chest at even the possibility that he might have caused this. _This isn’t the time for that_ , he reminds himself quickly. Panic attacks can be brought on by anything or nothing at all. Right now he needs to focus on helping Steve.

The blond’s fists are balled tight as they slip from Bucky’s neck and push at his chest gently, trying to right himself. Bucky quickly sits back on his heels, pulse racing for a different reason now, and helps him up. Steve’s still hyperventilating, but now it’s between coughing fits, and Bucky is fighting off his own panic. What should he do? Should he bring him to the hospital? His own attacks have never given him _this_ much trouble breathing.

“Is there anything I can do?” Bucky asks him, and he hears the fear leaking into his voice. He still hasn’t let go of the smaller man’s hand and he knows he has to do better to rein it in.

“My inhaler,” Steve manages to wheeze out, pointing to his suit with his free hand.

Bucky flies off the bed and digs through the pockets of Steve’s suit – jacket and pants. The blond has both hands pressed to the mattress as he struggles to support himself and a new wave of terror threatens to drown them both as Bucky says, “It’s not in here.” Steve’s eyes go wide. “Do you have a spare anywhere?”

The blond opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t get enough air in to force a sound out, then a flash of realization crosses his face and he holds up a hand, signing, “ _Bathroom!_ ”

Bucky nods once, quickly, and darts out of the room as fast as his legs will take him. Things crash to the ground as he searches the cabinets and drawers, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He’ll tidy it up again later. He finds the inhaler after what feels like too long and Steve is drooping as he runs back into the room, practically launches himself back onto the bed, and shoves the inhaler into his hand.

Steve jumps a little but he shakes the inhaler quickly and time seems to stop as he takes his first gasping puff from it. He starts to relax just a little as the medicine starts working instantly, and then he droops again after the second puff, though this time it’s from relief and not because he’s losing consciousness.

Steve’s whole body is trembling violently, covered in a cold sweat despite how red he is from the top of his head to half way down his chest. Despite all that, he finally starts breathing normally again. Only then does Bucky realize how tense he himself had gotten, how afraid. His muscles ache as he finally starts to relax again. He feels tired suddenly, but he’s sure it’s nothing compared to how Steve feels.

He lets out a breath and pulls Steve into his lap, holding him close and kissing the top of his head gently, whispering praises and comforts into his hair. They stay that way, propped against the headboard, until they both drift off to sleep.

 

*

 

Bucky’s woken up the next morning by Steve delicately climbing out of bed. He’s too tired to move or even open his eyes for the first couple of minutes, in that space where his brain is still processing the fact that such a major change had occurred overnight like that, that he’s in a new bed with his new husband and he’ll be waking up like this every morning for the rest of his life. He hopes.

He hears Steve fumbling around in the bathroom he hadn’t had a chance to tidy yet, then heading down the hall, he assumes to the kitchen, by the time he’s conscious enough to open his eyes. Just barely eight o’clock. Okay, he can get used to that. He hadn’t exactly been an early riser before, but he’s not opposed to the idea. He’ll like having the extra daylight, right? He rolls out of bed and sees Steve’s hearing aids on his bedside table. They hadn’t really talked about how often Steve wears his aids at home, but he decides to bring them just in case. It might take him a while to adjust to Bucky’s one-handed adaptation of the language anyway.

After a quick stop in the bathroom he makes his way to the kitchen where he finds Steve perched on the counter next to the coffee maker, a mug of coffee and neat little pile of pills next to his leg and thick-rimmed glasses on his face. He’s slipping prescription bottles back onto the cabinet shelf. A smirk tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth and he fights back a chuckle when Steve turns to him and starts just a little.

Bucky steps forward and holds out a hand, offering the hearing aids. “ _I wasn’t sure if you’d want these, but I thought I’d bring them just in case_ ,” Bucky signs once Steve takes them.

“Thanks,” Steve replies with a smile as he puts them in and adjusts them briefly. He grabs a mug from inside the cabinet and offers it to Bucky.

There’s a moment of silence where he takes the mug and starts fixing himself a cup, then he says, “So, hearing loss, asthma, and now glasses too? Anything else I should know about?” He’s teasing, of course, and hopes the fondness he feels comes across in his tone. He finishes mixing his coffee and points to the pile of pills on the counter with the spoon, chuckling as he asks, “Like, see? What are all those for? Should I be worried?”

Pink blooms on Steve’s cheeks as he picks up the pile and holds out his hand, pointing to each one as he explains them. “Metoprolol for my heart arrhythmia, escitalopram for depression and anxiety, omeprazole so I don’t get ulcers when I have to take a naproxen or something later in the day for my headaches. And these are just vitamin D and iron supplements for deficiencies.” Then he shotguns the whole handful and chases it with a big swig of his coffee.

 _Shit,_ Bucky thinks. You’d never know from the way Steve acts how much crap he has to deal with on a daily basis. He’s going to have to make a list or something, keep track of it all. He’s going to have to go online later, too, do some research, see what he can do to help.

“I’ve got a list,” Steve goes on, basically reading his mind, as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. The blond hops down from the counter and climbs up on top of the table, settling cross-legged right in the middle of it, mug in hand. Another amused grin tugs at Bucky’s lips and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “Well, two actually. There’s one in my memos on my phone, and an actual paper copy in my wallet. It’s got all my medications and allergies and conditions the doctors would need to be aware of if something happened and I wasn’t conscious to tell the paramedics myself.”

He should ask him for the list, right? It saves him from trying to make it from memory and fucking something up. That’s something a normal husband would have, so it’s not weird or offensive to ask for a copy, right? _Right,_ he decides, leaning back in his seat and smiling up at the blond as he asks, “Do you think you could make me a copy? So I can always have it too. Just in case, ya know.”

Steve blushes and his eyes widen just slightly. “Oh, uh, yeah. Of course. I’ll make you one later,” he replies slowly, his mouth practically hanging open. Then he blinks and changes the subject.

 

*

 

Monday comes and they’re both back to work. Bucky sees Steve off late in the morning with a hug and a shy kiss on the cheek, an exchange of ‘have a good day’s and ‘be safe’s and ‘call me if you need anything’s. It’s not long after that, about 12:30 that he gets a text from Sam.

[ **Sam:** Hey, just wanted to give you a heads up. Steve doesn’t exactly take care of himself at work like he should. 4-5 is about halfway through his day. I know the crew at the shop keeps an eye on him and shit, but I still always try to check in with him most days about then]

[ **Sam:** In case you wanted to take over the honor]

And Bucky can’t really say he’s surprised about Steve not taking proper care of himself. He hasn’t known or lived with Steve long, but he’s already learning how the blond has a tendency to push himself too hard, to overlook his own needs when there’s a task at hand. It’s something they have in common.

[ **Bucky:** Oh! Yeah! Definitely :) Thanks for letting me know]

[ **Sam:** No problem.]

And he’s just about to put his phone away when it buzzes again.

[ **Sam:** Hey]

[ **Sam:** You free tomorrow afternoon for coffee or something?]

[ **Sam:** Steve said you’re a writer so you work from home or something, right?]

Bucky feels his brow furrow and he’s surprised by how nervous he’s already feeling at just the prospect. Sam doesn’t treat Steve like he’s a child or glass or anything like that, but he’s also definitely the most protective of his friends from what he’s seen and from what Steve has said about him.

[ **Bucky:** Yeah, I work from home on my own schedule and all that, so I’m free whenever. Just let me know what works best for you and I’m down.]

[ **Sam:** Okay cool. I’ll let you know]

 

Four o’clock rolls around and Bucky pulls his phone out to text Steve, to check in on him. But, really, if Steve might get upset by anything it’ll probably be that. He’s still a little awkward about this whole being husbands thing, and that paired with how defensive he gets about being babied- It’s probably a bad idea, for this time anyway.

So instead he looks up the cross-streets for the shop Steve works at, then grabs his wallet and keys, stuffs his phone in his pocket and slips on his shoes. He stops at Steve’s favorite burger place on the way and then heads straight for Shield Tattoo. As he pushes his way into the shop, takeout bag in hand, there’s a group of what Bucky can only assume are other tattoo artists draped across various chairs and couches, all _very_ invested in some trashy daytime talk show. There’s a woman leading a teenager with a fresh belly button piercing and her slightly horrified looking mother from the back.

“You must be Bucky,” the woman says with a wicked grin and a wink as she takes him in.

Everyone in the shop sits up a little straighter at that, all of their eyes immediately landing on him.

“Awh, look, he’s brought him lunch,” says a brunette with a posh British accent.

“What gave me away?” Bucky jokes, blushing just slightly.

“The one arm,” says the only other guy in the shop, and Bucky can’t help but bark out a surprised laugh at his forwardness.

“He showed us some pictures earlier,” says another woman, kicking the other man- and not lightly, either.

After the blonde cashes out the horrified mother they exchange introductions. Bucky finds himself pleased at his recognition of the names from Steve’s stories. Peggy, the other artist that worked here with Steve when it was owned by the last guy. Her wife, Angie, their piercer with an old-school pin-up hairdo and bright red lipstick. The guy with his dyed-black hair sticking out in every direction, eyeliner and ink smeared all over his face, an artist who just goes by Rocket. And another tattoo artist who goes by Gamora with magenta hair and delicate scarification on her face he hadn’t noticed at first glance – a specialty she does for the shop.

The buzzing from the back of the shop stops and Rocket grins. “Hey, sounds like he’s done,” he says. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” Then he scurries off to the back. He comes back out front a few minutes later, a mischievous grin on his face and says, “He’s just cashing him out now. You can head back.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says and offers a smile before heading to the back.

He stops in the doorway, giving Steve some privacy with his client, but also taking a selfish moment to admire his new husband.

“You’re popular today,” his customer is teasing him, pulling out his wallet and rifling through it.

“I guess so,” Steve replies with a chuckle and a shrug. “You remember how to take care of it? Need any more ointment or anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” the guy shakes his head and holy shit the wad of cash he holds out blows Bucky’s mind a little. His view of the work is distorted through the plastic wrap, but he’s seen Steve’s work before and knows he’s worth it, but still. He’d underestimated how expensive tattoos are, he guesses. “That’s all you dude.”

“You sure?” Steve asks, his eyes bugging out a little as he flips through it, counting it quickly. He almost chokes.

“Yeah Stevie, you’re the fucking best,” his client says and holds out his fist.

Steve bumps it with one hand while he tucks the money in his pocket with the other, an adorable blush blooming on his cheeks. “Dude, _you’re_ the fucking best,” he replies, laughing, and pulls the guy into a one-armed hug. “If you wanna come back in a couple weeks or whatever once it’s all healed up I’ll get a pic for the site.”

They exchange goodbyes and a wave and Steve sets to work cleaning up his station. Bucky smiles at the guy on his way out and makes his way over to where his husband’s cleaning up.

“Hey,” he says softly, setting the takeout bag down on a clear spot on the desk, then steps around the half-wall creating the ‘stations’ and leans back against it.

Steve’s head shoots up, startled despite Bucky’s efforts against it. “Oh, hey you,” he says, setting down the tattoo machine in his hands and closing the distance between them. Bucky can feel eyes on them from the front of the shop and Steve hesitates for a brief moment, then surprises him by leaning up on tip-toes to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. The front of the shop erupts in cheers and Steve just rolls his eyes fondly while Bucky feels his cheeks heating up. “What are you doing here?” the blond asks, ignoring his friends.

“Thought you might need some lunch,” Bucky replies, his smile widening as he rests his hand on Steve’s slight hip. The front of the shop only gets louder at that, one of them cat-calling. “I’ve been warned you’re not very good at taking care of yourself when you’re working,” he teases fondly.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, and it’s his turn to blush now as he flips his friends off. Surprisingly, they actually quiet down. “I wonder who would have told you something stupid like that.” He says it like he knows _exactly_ who gave him the heads up. He reaches up and rests his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, smiling up at him. “I guess you were the commotion I heard out there, huh?”

“Guess so,” Bucky says, shaking his head just a little. “Your work is really amazing, you know,” he changes the subject. “I kinda saw what you did on that one guy just now. It was really great watching you work, all in your element like that.” He really hadn’t seen him doing the actual tattooing, but just seeing him with a client- it was like a whole different Steve.

Steve’s blush darkens and he can hear his friends’ giggles and chatter start back up. Okay, so they’re clearly still gawking. “Well, I have some free time right now,” he says, clearly doing his best to ignore them. He smooths his hands down Bucky’s chest and leans up for another kiss. “You know, if you wanted to stay? Eat with me?”

And that _really_ surprises Bucky. The blond has been hesitant since the start of this thing, hasn’t really gotten comfortable enough to play the husband role. At least until now.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, his face lighting up as his head tips to the side slightly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

*

 

The next afternoon there’s a knock on the door just after one. Bucky’s face scrunches up just a little as he glances up from his computer screen. Then he remembers the text from Sam asking if he was free today, and how he’d never heard anything about it again after that. Well, he’s sure fuckin’ glad he decided to put some actual clothes on today. Guess his subconscious remembered the coffee date, even if he didn’t.

He pushes himself up from his desk and wanders out through the living room just as the knocking comes again, louder this time. “Coming,” Bucky calls as he takes the last few steps to the door and pulls it open. “Hey man, come on in.”

“Hey,” Sam replies, stepping past him through the open door. Bucky’s surprised to find his husband, Riley, with him as well. “Rile decided he wanted to cook you lunch instead of going out. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, no, not at all,” he stumbles out, surprised. “I can still make coffee here if you guys want some. Nice to see you again,” he says to Riley. He wants to tell them to make themselves at home, but he’s pretty sure this place is more of a home to them than to him at this point, and he doesn’t want to step on toes. They make themselves comfortable anyway, toeing off shoes and wandering into the kitchen.

“Any allergies or anything you just don’t like?” Riley asks him as he starts digging through the fridge and cabinets.

“Nah, no allergies and I’m not too picky. There’s nothing in this house I wouldn’t eat, at least,” he says with a chuckle. “You sure you want to cook? I’m no professional chef, but I’m pretty good.”

“You wanna show off?” Riley teases him with a wink. “How about we save it for this weekend? We’ll come over for a double date night in or something.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky says with a grin. “Either of you want coffee?” he asks, starting a pot anyway while the blond riffles around the rest of the kitchen. He _had_ just been thinking he could use a cup.

“I’ll take some,” Sam replies, taking a seat at the kitchen table, and Riley hums his agreement. “How ya settling in?” he asks after a beat. “I see the house is unpacked already.”

“Good, good,” Bucky replies, that dopey grin making its way onto his face as he takes a seat across from Sam while they wait. “This is a real nice place, kinda reminds me of my last place, easy to feel like home. Especially since Stevie set me up with my own work space in his studio. I just keep thinking how fuckin’ lucky I am, ya know? I can’t believe it. I’d heard the Selection was good, and it was really magic with Nat and Clint, you met them at the wedding, but I was still worried about my own match, ya know? Until I actually met him, that is.”

Riley is beaming as he glances over his shoulder but Sam’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Yeah?” he asks. “I heard about the panic attack that night. And that you got the medicine list.”

“Yeah, yepp,” he confirms, tapping the pocket his phone is in. He knows Sam is testing him, knew the second he asked if he was free that that’s exactly what their coffee date would be. Sam is protective of Steve, he could tell that from the second he met him. But he can’t blame him, Nat is the same way with him, and she hasn’t even known him as long as Sam’s known Steve. He’s happy Steve had someone who had his back before the universe brought them together. “Got the medicine and allergy list over the weekend, on my phone and in my wallet. The panic attack was scary, obviously, I’m sure you’ve helped him through your fair share. I’m not a stranger to it, though I haven’t seen one that bad before. But I’m just glad I was able to do something for him, ya know? Saw the glasses, too. Those are _adorable_.”

Riley lets out a little approving noise as he gets back to work over the stove and Sam looks slightly less skeptical now. Slightly. “So after the hearing loss, the inhalers, the glasses, all those meds and allergies and conditions? How are you feeling about all that? It’s a lot, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. So far no one’s really been able to handle all of it.”

“Nah, I mean, I’m used to it,” he says, blushing just a little bit. “I mean, Clint’s got hearing loss too, so I’m already fluent in ASL, though I admit I tend to use PSE more often, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. If anyone views dating Steve as ‘handling’ or ‘putting up with’ just because he’s sick or because he’s got some mental issues, that’s bullshit. I know all about that. I’d never do that to someone else,” he says, gesturing toward where his left arm should be.

“How’d you lose it?” Sam asks, probably - at least in part - to judge his reaction. It’s something Natasha would have done.

“Sammy!” Riley shoots, brow furrowed as his head snaps around to shoot his husband a look. Bucky blanches just slightly at the memory. “Me and Sam were paired up through the Selection too, ya know,” he changes the subject, flashing Bucky an apologetic smile before focusing back on the food. “Last year.”

“Seems like it’s worked out pretty great for you guys,” Bucky says, grateful for the subject change. He means it, too. They seem to balance each other out well. “So what do you do for a living Sam?” he asks, getting up to fill three mugs with coffee.

“I’m a counselor,” Sam replies, leaning back in his seat. “I work with the VA right now.”

“Very noble of you,” Bucky says genuinely, moving the mugs to the kitchen table and getting out spoons, sugar, creamer, milk. “Must be hard, hearing all those stories. I’m not a vet, if that’s what you were asking earlier.” He settles back in his seat and starts fixing his own cup, light and sweet.

“Not any harder than any other counseling,” Sam says with a calculating look that betrays the shrug he tries to make look nonchalant. “Everyone’s got shit. Sounds like you know all about that.”

Bucky finds himself annoyed at Sam’s persistence- or rather, at the roundabout way he’s trying to dig and particularly at which soft spots he’s poking. He forces himself to let it go, sure it has something to do with the comment he’d made earlier. _So far no one’s really been able to handle all of it._

Riley, on the other hand, clucks his tongue as he makes his way over to fix his own cup. “Sammy, stop bein’ ugly,” he scolds, his southern lilt accentuated in his exasperation.

Sam holds his hands up defensively. “Just tryin’ to get to know my best friend’s new husband,” he says, then makes an x over his chest. “Cross my heart baby.”

Riley rolls his eyes but presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters. “Stop prying,” he adds, whispered.

“Sorry,” Sam says, thought it barely sounds sincere. “I’m just protective, you know?” he addresses Bucky with that one. “I’m glad to hear his physical – and mental – shit hasn’t scared you off.”

“It’d take _way_ more than that to get rid of me,” Bucky says, meeting the other man’s eyes. “I know it hasn’t even been a week yet, but he’s the one. I’m sure of it.”

 

*

 

Bucky makes his way into the tattoo shop with a backpack over his shoulder. He’d packed a little picnic of sorts for him and Steve to share today in his husband’s down time, knowing Steve’s day was a light one. If anything it would be mostly walk-ins and working on designs for bigger pieces while he mans the front desk. He heads there about half-way through Steve’s day and brings along his laptop in case he has to sit for a while and wait for him to finish a walk-in. Bucky has found he really loves going to hang out at the shop. Steve’s co-workers and the clients are all awesome and no one minds if he just sits around and watches Steve work or gets some writing done or just chats with his husband when he’s not with a client.

For the first time since the wedding, the shop doesn’t explode into complete and utter chaos the second he walks through the door. He’s grateful for it. He supposes with him coming in at least once a week, people would have to settle down eventually. To be fair, it probably also has something to do with the fact that almost everyone is in the back working.

“Hey hot stuff,” Angie teases as he makes his way over to the counter. “You’re gonna be sittin’ around for a minute if you were hoping to eat with him.”

“Hey pretty lady,” Bucky replies with a wink. “He with a client?” He shifts his bag on his shoulder and leans against the counter. “I can hang out here if he needs.”

“Nah,” she says, “he went on a supply run. He shouldn’t be  _too_ much longer though. He’s been gone for a bit already. You can get some work done at his desk if you want.”

“Thanks,” he says and blows her a kiss before making his way to the back.

He says his hellos to everyone in the shop and sets the food and his laptop up on Steve’s clean desk. He gets distracted watching Gamora do a beautiful scarification piece on a girl’s back and is just finally starting to get to work when Steve bursts through the front door, bells jangling wildly as he shouts.

“Guys, I found us a new supplier! Does anyone remember where I put those extra hearing aid batteries?” He makes his way into the back section of the shop, his grin widening when he sees Bucky. “Hey baby! Didn’t expect you to stop by today or else I would have sent that free-loading blonde up front,” he jokes, glancing over his shoulder to where Angie is giving him an amused look from the archway between the sections of the shop.

“ _You’re shouting,_ ” Bucky signs, snickering.

“Oh, am I? Whoops! Sorry guys!” he says, voice still way above even his normal level, and laughs.

Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes fondly, closing his laptop and putting it away while Steve drops each bag off at its respective artist’s station.

“What happened to our old supplier?” Peggy signs as she asks, tossing a pack of batteries at him.

Over the past few weeks Bucky’s gotten to know the crew a little better, and part of that has been learning who’s at what level with their signing. Angie and Peggy are not quite up to par with Bucky and Steve, or even Sam and Riley, but they’re pretty near fluent. Rocket apprenticed under Steve and, while he does miss some things, he can definitely figure out what’s going on from the words he does catch and he can hold a conversation. Gamora is the newest, having gotten the spot through her friend Rocket when she got sick of the bullshit from her last shop, and so she has the smallest vocabulary of them all, but she’s picking it up fast.

“My aids died on the way over there and he was a total dick about the fact that I suddenly couldn’t hear him today,” Steve’s voice is slightly lower now as he starts replacing the batteries, though he is still loud enough that the whole shop can hear him. “I went to this other place, kind of new, I’d heard about it recently, ya know? He was totally nice and could actually sign a little. Guess his niece was just born, deaf, and so he’s learning. It was mostly finger-spelling for now, and he got some signs mixed up, but it was sweet and between that and a pad of paper we got it figured out. Even gave me a discount when I told him he’d gotten a new regular.”

“That’s amazing,” Bucky signs with a grin. Having been through all the bullshit and more with Clint as his hearing loss started becoming significant, he has a special place in his heart for people who make an effort, or at least aren’t douchebags, about that kind of thing.

“Does that mean we get a bonus this week?” Rocket teases as Steve slips his aids back in.

“Ha ha, you’re _so_ funny,” the blond teases him, voice back to normal, eyebrows raised. “How about I buy us all pizza on Friday or something?”

“I’ll take it,” Rocket replies with finger guns, then goes back to the sketch he’d been working on.

“Patron Saint,” Bucky teases his husband as he slips into his station.

“Of pizza?” Steve asks, laughing, and grabs a bag of chips off his desk.

“Of course,” Bucky replies, laughing, as the blond settles into his lap. “I love you.”

“Love you too baby,” his husband says. He kisses him softly, then holds a chip up to his mouth in offering. “Miss me?”

“Every second you’re away,” Bucky teases, then takes the offered chip between his teeth.

“What a fucking sap,” Steve teases right back, stealing another kiss.

Bucky laughs and pinches his side playfully. “Okay, go ahead and pretend you don’t spend every day hoping I’ll come bring you lunch. You love it.”

“I do,” Steve replies, his smile more sincere this time. There’s a beat where they’re just looking at each other, where Bucky thinks for the millionth time that he fucking loves this man and that he’s the luckiest person on the planet. Then Steve gets this shit-eating grin and asks, “What’d you bring me?”

 

*

 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t mind?” Steve asks for the millionth time since Bucky invited him to come along on one of his coffee dates with Nat and Clint. Normally Steve would be working, but the power is out for Shield’s entire block due to some freak accident or something, so he has a rare weekday off.

“Of course not,” Bucky replies, pressing a kiss to his cheek in passing. “You’re my husband. It’s just a nice double date. It’ll be cute,” he calls, increasingly louder so Steve can still hear him as he makes his way to the bathroom for a hair tie.

“I know,” Steve calls back, self-consciously tugging the hem of his shirt and prodding gently at a hearing aid as he stares at himself in the mirror. “I just know they mean a lot to you and you like having this time with them and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Do I intrude or make things less fun or whatever when you invite me to come to stuff with Sam and Riley?” Bucky asks, leaning against the doorframe now, an eyebrow raised.

Steve huffs out a defeated sigh and shakes his head. “No,” he says and signs, turning toward his husband. “You’re right, I know. You ready to go? Want me to put your hair up for you?” he asks when he notices the elastic still in the brunet’s hand.

Bucky flushes slightly and glances down toward the hair tie between his fingers. “You don’t have to,” he says, meeting those blue eyes again. “I can do it on my own.”

“I know you can,” Steve assures him, stepping forward and gently taking it from him. “I don’t know  _how_ ,” he teases lovingly, chuckling. “It’s gotta be witchcraft or something. But I’ve seen you do it.” He kisses the other man’s cheek as he steps behind him and starts gingerly pulling long, silky strands up into a ponytail. “It is a little faster this way, feels nicer for you too, and I like being able to do things for you and take care of you.”

“Says the one whose friends can tell horror stories of times you almost died because you wouldn’t accept help,” Bucky teases him.

“They were exaggerating,” the blond replies dismissively, though when he comes back around to check his handy work his cheeks are pink. “And anyway, I let  _you_ help me.”

Bucky is positively beaming as he closes the distance between them, bringing his hand up to rest on Steve’s cheek. “That’s true,” he says, stealing a quick kiss. “It’s probably out of pity,” he jokes, drawing an indignant ‘Hey!’ from the other man, “letting the cripple feel useful.” Steve smacks his shoulder lightly, giggling and muttering ‘shut up’ as Bucky just grins and goes on, “But I still like it, so it’s okay.”

“Yeah, well, by those standards you just let me help out of pity too,” Steve teases right back, tapping his hearing aids. “ _And_  I’m an invalid. Double-whammy.”

Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes, saying and signing, “Shut up. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve replies, a cheesy grin on his face. “Now let’s go. If you’re late they’re going to blame me.”

Bucky bursts into a new fit of giggles, rolling his eyes as he takes his husband’s hand and tugs him gently toward the door. “No, but they  _might_  kick my ass.”

 

The subway ride up to Natasha and Clint’s part of town is blissfully quick as they chat and steal kisses and before they know it they’re settling into seats across from his friends, coffee in hand.

“How’s your tattoo healing up?” Steve asks Natasha once they exchange greetings. A few weeks ago he had tattooed dragon scales across her hips and thighs.

“Well,” she replies with a grin. “They look amazing. I actually just sent Bucky a picture of it a couple days ago.”

“And you didn’t show me?” Steve feigns offense. “I feel betrayed.”

Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes fondly, already fishing for his phone in his pocket. “It was while you were at work, to be fair, and when you got home I totally forgot,” he says, finding the picture and showing his husband. The redhead is in string bikini bottoms with a crop top on, body turned just right to show off the new tattoo.

“You know,” Steve starts, jokingly, as he looks up at Natasha again, “lesser men might be extremely jealous that you’re sending pictures like that to their husbands.”

“Lesser men are babies, aren’t they?” Nat quips back, batting eyelashes. “Also, they’re not as cute as you, and their husbands aren’t as gay as James.” She winks at him and snickers when it brings a blush to his cheeks. She shifts her attention to include Bucky then and asks, “So things have still been going well with you guys and the house and stuff?”

“Yeah,” Steve absolutely beams as he nods and it makes Bucky’s heart swell with pride. “Things are great.”

“The apartment’s perfect,” Bucky adds. “You should come over for lunch or something some time.”

“Oh, I bet Sam and Riley would love to come over too!” Steve chimes in, lightly whacking his husband’s leg in his enthusiasm. “He _loves_ cooking for friends. He would love to make something nice for us all.”

“I still can’t believe he enjoys cooking in his free time so much when he does it all week at work,” Bucky says, chuckling and fondly shaking his head.

Steve laughs and shrugs. “I get it,” he says. “It’s his passion, he likes doing it. I mean, I spend a lot of my free time drawing, don’t I?”

“That’s true,” Bucky says, still chuckling, and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “And I guess I never really _leave_ work, technically.”

“Plus, he’s good at it and he likes to show off,” Steve replies, feigning annoyance with a smirk on his face.

Bucky barks out a laugh, shaking his head again. “That’s probably also true,” he says.

Natasha watches the interaction with careful eyes and a smile on her face. Bucky knows she’s analyzing it, them, their relationship. He’s just glad Steve hasn’t really noticed. He’s gotten used to that look, to the times when she goes into this mode. Steve would likely be prickly about it, at least at first. He supposes he should have warned him about her tendency to do this and makes a mental note to bring it up later.

“Any nightmares?” Clint asks, more pointedly, eyebrows raised.

Bucky’s eyes start to go wide but he catches himself. “No, no,” he replies, shaking his head quickly. “I’ve been fine.”

“Nightmares?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is that something that’s normally an issue for you? Is there anything I can do to help prevent it? No horror movies before bed or something?”

“You haven’t told him yet?” Clint asks, incredulous. Natasha stays suspiciously silent, but her eyes are narrowed just slightly and he can tell that analytical brain is going into overdrive. He knows he’s got a long lecture coming via text from her later tonight.

“Told me what?” and this time there’s a guarded edge to Steve’s voice, nervous. It makes Bucky wonder what happened to put that tone in his voice, that wary look in his eyes.

“I just get bad nightmares sometimes,” Bucky replies, not a lie, not entirely, not even mostly, really. He shoots Clint a look and avoids Tash’s eyes. “It was bad when I was younger but now it’s mostly just when I’m _really_ stressed out. I haven’t really been having any in the last couple years, though.” All truths, he assures himself. He’s just leaving out the deeper cause of the nightmares, the subject of them. “It’s nothing.” Ah, _there’s_ the lie.

 

*

 

Bucky doesn’t think anything of the Grey’s Anatomy marathon that he turns on for background noise as he cleans the living room. He loves this show, has watched and re-watched it about a million times, and it always makes for great background noise when there’s nothing on or nothing new to watch. He’s not really paying much attention anyway, doesn’t think anything of it.

At least not until the current episode ends and the next one starts and something on the screen catches his eye, a flash of silver. Then the crying and screaming starts between Doctor Webber’s speech, engines whirring to a stop, and Lexi Grey is coughing up blood. Light through the trees, the sound of ringing in your ears, and _god_ there’s so much fucking screaming.

Suddenly he’s not in his new apartment, no, he’s sixteen again in the woods, and there’s this searing pain in his arm and it smells like blood and burning flesh and someone won’t stop screaming. Maybe it’s him. He doesn’t know. Someone won’t stop screaming and where are his parents? Where’s Becca? Where’s Beth? He’s screaming their names and digging through leaves and shoving at shrapnel. His left arm isn’t working – no, it’s not there at all anymore – and he’s not sure why but it hurts so _fucking_ much. But that doesn’t matter right now. He has to find his family.

He finds Rebecca first, half under a wing of the plane. Even at sixteen, even with this level of shock, he can still tell it’s too late. Not like he- like _anyone_ could have done anything to save her, not out here. And all he wants to do is fall to the ground and scream and cry, but he has to find the rest of his family. The rest of them could still be alive. He finds his parents next, still in their seats. It’s too late for them too.

He finds Beth last, on the edge of the wreckage with a huge, sharp piece of metal through her shoulder and one through her stomach. She reminds him to gather wood for a fire and when he gets back he sits with her through the night and into the next day while she dies.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice breaks through the memory and suddenly he’s back in their apartment, in their studio and office space, sitting at his desk with his hands resting on his keyboard.

Bucky still feels hazy, still isn’t really sure of what just happened or what triggered it or how long he’s been out of it like this. He looks over and sees Steve in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow quirked, clearly angry or annoyed or something. “Hey baby. What’s going on?” he asks softly, blinking a few times. His throat feels raw.

Steve pops a hip and lets out a little ‘tch’, gesturing toward the rest of the apartment as Bucky’s slowly coming back to the present. “What the fuck happened to the house?” he asks.

Bucky fights a flinch. Oh god, he thinks as he realizes what happened. He can only imagine what the house looks like. “I- I have no idea!” he stutters out, timid at first but defensive by the end, brow furrowed, frown set heavy, still a little confused and cheeks blushing red. “Why are you coming in here snapping at me all accusing and shit like that? What the fuck Steve?” He should have told Steve- but he hasn’t had an episode like this in almost five years. It was just nightmares…

“What do you mean you have no idea? I’m snapping because I come home and the house is fucking torn apart and you’re nowhere to be found and my immediate fucking thought is that someone broke in and I’m gonna find your fucking corpse or something!” Steve’s shouting from the doorway now and Bucky feels all the blood drain from his body as the memory flashes through his head again. Oh god, he’d been doing so well lately. Oh god, what did he do? “And then, after _all_ that, you’re just sitting here like nothing fucking happened Buck! That’s why I’m snapping at you!”

“Well I don’t know what the fuck happened!” Bucky mostly-lies, shouts back in his fear and shame and his still-disoriented state. His cheeks are burning as he jumps to his feet.

“How in the fucking hell could you not know what happened? Even if you’d left and all this happened while you were out, you would have had to walk past it all just to get back to this fucking room!” Steve gestures wildly as he talks and Bucky is _panicking._

He’s ruined everything. He had this so under control and one stupid mistake, one stupid slip up, one stupid second of not paying enough fucking attention, and he’s ruined his whole marriage. Even if Steve can forgive him for this, for hiding this, he’s going to relapse and everything about his PTSD will come out. Steve will realize he’s even more broken than he’d originally thought and he’ll never be able to fall in love with someone so _fucking_ broken.

“I just… don’t fucking know!” Bucky tangles his hand in his hair. “That’s it! That’s… That’s it…” Oh god, what has he done? He pushes past the blond and tries to leave. He has to get out of here. He has to see Tasha. She’ll tell him what to do, she’ll fix it. She’ll-

Oh god. He freezes instantly, hand still tangled in his hair, when he sees the rest of the apartment. It’s a fucking train wreck. Their shit is thrown all over the place, furniture it toppled. The memory of digging through the wreckage flashes through his brain again and he shudders. No wonder Steve thought someone had broken in, that he might have been hurt.

Steve storms up behind him and even without turning around Bucky can feel the anger radiating off of him. “What the fuck James?!”

This isn’t his fault! It isn’t his fault! If Steve was so scared, why is he shouting at him like this now?! He whirls around to face the blond and now he’s starting to get mad too. He wants to shout at Steve, to tell him he didn’t know, it’s not his fault. But then he thinks about his parents, his sisters, and the anger drains out of him in a second. So instead he just lets his hand fall from his hair, narrows his eyes, snaps his mouth shut, and rushes out of the apartment.

 

He’s on the elevator up to his old apartment before he even realizes where he’d been going. He reaches into his pocket for his phone, intending to at least send a short warning text to his friends that he’s here, and then realizes he doesn’t have his phone at all. _Fuck._ He checks his pockets frantically once, twice, three times, and realizes that between his flashback and the fight with Steve he’d left both his phone _and_ his wallet behind.

He sighs heavily as he steps off the elevator and hesitates before knocking on Nat’s door. He’s not sure what time it is, but it’s just getting dark out so he’s sure she’ll be home. She’s going to be furious with Steve, he thinks. She doesn’t know he still hasn’t told him about his past. And he’s just about to back out, to turn around and go home and work things out like a proper, healthy adult would, but then Nat opens the door and frowns and asks, “What happened?”

She ushers Bucky inside and pulls him into a hug and makes him a cup of tea. Bucky sips the tea and it soothes him just like it always has as he explains what happened. And, as expected, Natasha is furious.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouts, several times during his story and a few more when he’s done. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?! How fucking dare he?!” She’d started on a stool, but by the end she’s pacing the space between the kitchen and the living room, her fists balled at her sides.

Bucky opens his mouth to defend his new husband, to explain that he still hadn’t told Steve, not about the accident, not any of it. Between the episode and the walk here and then explaining it again, he’s exhausted. All he can think about is crawling into bed, any bed. But Natasha’s on a rampage now. Before he can even say anything she’s on the phone, calling Steve to bitch him out no doubt. Clint sits on the couch, listening quietly, angry for his friend but keeping a level head about him.

“Natasha, don’t,” Bucky urges her as forcefully as he can manage right now. It goes to voicemail and she hangs up and tries again, ignoring him. When it goes to voicemail again, she sends a slew of furious texts she won’t let Bucky read. This pattern continues for a while, Bucky protesting in the background and Clint joining in after a while too, before the blond turns to him and sighs.

“You look exhausted,” he says. “Want to stay the night?”

Bucky shakes his head sleepily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I am tired though,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna head home. I’m sure he’ll be calm enough that we can talk about it, or at least just go to sleep and talk in the morning.”

“You should stay,” Natasha insists, pausing in her tirade on Steve’s phone. “What if you have a nightmare? Steve clearly won’t know how to handle that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky insists tiredly. “I haven’t had a nightmare in ages.”

“Except on your birthday,” Clint reminds him.

“And you always have nightmares after you’ve had a bad flashback like this,” Nat cuts in.

Bucky shakes his head quickly. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m going to go home.”

Natasha narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t argue again. They say their goodbyes and he leaves. When Bucky gets home the apartment is clean and half of the lights are still on, but Steve’s in their room in the dark, already asleep. Bucky sighs heavily at the realization. He changes quickly and slips into bed, but despite his exhaustion he tosses and turns for hours before he manages to slip into sleep.

 

*

 

Bucky’s sixteen and he’s pretty sure the plane he’s on is falling out of the sky. Everything is in chaos and everyone is screaming, crying, flailing, trying to cling to their seats and their families and their lives. The plane splits apart and the force of the wind is brutal. He’s falling freely through the air now, his body like a ragdoll, a scream he can’t even hear tearing itself from his throat. He’s sure he’s going to pass out any second now. Until sharp pain shoots through his right hand. His right hand? That wasn’t the arm he lost, that’s not the one that’s supposed to hurt.

Bucky wakes with a start, heart racing, breath racing, clutching his chest as he comes back to the present, to his surroundings, for the second time in less than a day. He’s still groggy, the dream fading from his memory already, and he hadn’t really registered Steve’s shout earlier, but now he feels the blond doubled over in his lap, hands clutched to his face as a string of curses pours steadily from his lips.

“What the fuck?” Bucky mumbles, his voice slurred and rough with sleep, as he stares at the back of the blond’s head. The pain in his hand comes back to him and he lets out a hiss. “Steve, what’s going on?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure he’s starting to piece it together.

“You had a nightmare,” Steve groans through his hands. _Fuck_ , Bucky thinks. _Fuck, I can’t believe I fucking hurt him this time_. _What have I done? He’s never going to forgive me now._ Steve manages to push himself up after a moment and as he heads to the bathroom he cuts through Bucky’s panic, motioning for his husband to follow him and saying, “C’mon, I’ve gotta look at that hand to make sure you don’t need stitches.”

Bucky clutches his fist to his chest as he stumbles out of bed and after his husband. Steve’s plastic frames are broken, discarded on the counter and he’s blinking, adjusting to his contacts, Bucky assumes. There’s glass sticking out of his nose and cheeks and blood down his face and the brunet goes cold.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, glancing between those frames on the counter, his own glass-strewn, bloody hand, and Steve’s face as he digs through a drawer. Even still groggy, he figures out exactly what happened. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Steve, did I…?” he hesitates, afraid of the answer he already knows he’ll get. He can’t help but flinch at the memory of Steve shouting at him earlier, at the fear of it happening again.

Steve finally manages to find tweezers and the first aid kid and turns to his husband. “You were asleep. You were having a nightmare,” he confirms. “You had no control over it,” he says soothingly. Natasha must have gotten ahold of him, then, must have told him. The blond doesn’t even bother cleaning himself up or pulling the glass from his own face before he turns to Bucky, holding his empty hand out. “Let me see your hand baby.”

Bucky hesitates, and when he does hold his hand out he flinches when Steve first takes it. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves more screaming. He hid a major issue from his husband because he thought it was under control and now, in _one_ fucking day, he’d managed to not only scare the shit out of Stevie, but he hurt him too. But he knows PTSD doesn’t just go away and he knew something like this could happen. He should have told him.

“Steve,” he whispers, “your face…”

Steve waves a dismissive hand as he inspects the wounds. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t even hurt that bad. I want to take care of your hand first.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky says, his voice wrecked from all the screaming he’s done today. “I’m such a fucking mess. God. You were all freaking out because you thought that panic attack you had was bad…” He’s near tears as he sighs and shakes his head. He barely registers Steve starting to pluck the glass from his knuckles. “I should have told you… back then… about everything…“ His voice breaks and a few stray tears roll down his cheeks. “I just… it’s ruined all of my relationships. No one ever fucking believes me and, and I’d been managing it so fucking well lately. I just thought… I thought it would be okay… I didn’t want to scare you off…”

“I believe you,” Steve says, just above a whisper. He cradles Bucky’s hand in his and cleans the wounds gently. “Please don’t apologize Buck, it’s not your fault.” He glances up at him as he drops the bloody washcloth he’d used onto the counter and wraps the brunet’s hand. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. And I am, I’m _so_ sorry baby.” He glances up again once he’s done dressing the wound, then he brings Bucky’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

Steve steps closer and Bucky flinches again, involuntarily, hesitating before wrapping his arm around the blond’s waist. Steve reaches up and gently wipes away his tears before looping his arms around his husband’s neck, looking into his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. Bucky opens his mouth to apologize again, but Steve cuts him off before he can.

“I’m so sorry,” he goes on. “I was such a fucking ass. I didn’t know what was going on and I was just so fucking scared. And I know it’s not an excuse, it’s not. I shouldn’t have started yelling. I fucking regretted it the second it came out of my damn mouth. Christ…” he trails off as Bucky’s arm drapes looser around his waist, the brunet fidgeting with the waistband of his pants. “You’re so great with all of my shit and the one time you need me, I let you down,” he rambles on. “Jesus Jamie, I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I can,” Bucky says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But how about we take care of your face now Stevie? Doesn’t that hurt?”

Steve shrugs a little. “I’m used to it,” he says quietly, though he does start to pull back, reach for the tweezers again. “Got into a lot of fights in school.”

“I never would have guessed,” Bucky says flatly and they both laugh and just like that they’re on their way to okay again.

 

*

 

At first, Bucky is hesitant to sleep in the same bed with Steve again or even touch him, afraid to hurt him either from another nightmare or just from being a klutz. But Steve hadn’t flinched, not once, and Bucky had gotten over it somewhere around the week and a half mark. They’d talked about it the day after and Bucky had spilled everything – details about the accident, how bad the PTSD was at first, the lawsuit that made it worse, everything. It’s been two weeks now and they’re both grateful that Bucky hasn’t had any more episodes or nightmares. He’s hoping that will be the last time this happens for a long time- forever.

Steve is up way too early one morning, scrambling out of bed excitedly and waking Bucky in his haste. He whispers for him to go back to bed, explaining he’s got a huge piece scheduled for today and he’ll be home late. Bucky whines and grumbles about missing him, but after a few kisses lets him get dressed and leave. Steve’s been gone for twelve fucking hours with complete radio silence before a text finally pops up.

[ **Steve:** Hey, just letting you know I’m on my way home<3]

[ **Steve:** Get dressed up, okay? I got us reservations somewhere really nice for dinner]

Bucky scrunches his face in confusion as he reads the messages again. Somewhere really nice? What does he have up his sleeve?

[ **Bucky:**????? Ooookay??????]

[ **Bucky:** Any particular reason?]

[ **Bucky:** I mean, you can’t be proposing. We’re kind of already married.]

Steve doesn’t offer an explanation, so after a few minutes he rolls his eyes fondly and shrugs, heading to the closet to find something nice to wear. He’s putting the finishing touches on his outfit – tightening his tie, straightening his vest, pulling his hair up – when he hears the front door open.

“You look amazing,” Steve says, a dreamy look on his face as he leans against the doorframe.

“ _You_ need to change,” Bucky teases him, a smirk on his face as he remembers how good Steve looks all dressed up in a suit, tattoos up his neck and across his hands. Gorgeous.

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking over to him. “What, you don’t think I could go to a fancy restaurant in my ripped up shorts and this band tee?” he jokes, stretching his arms out dramatically, showing off.

“I mean, _I_ wouldn’t mind,” Bucky replies, laughing as he allows his eyes to slowly trail along his husband’s body. “You know _I_ think you look hot in anything. But I’m not so sure they’d let you in like that, and _that_ would kind of ruin the date I think.”

He tugs Steve in close and as their chests press together Steve lets out a soft hiss and a groan, though he tries to play it off, to ignore it, and just rests his hands on Bucky’s hips. He leans up and steals a kiss, but Bucky takes one shoulder and holds him out at arm’s length, eyes narrowed as he eyes his torso again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, equal parts concerned and suspicious.

Steve just flashes a crooked grin and steps out of his husband’s grip. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “But I do have- Well, I did something. For you. To apologize for being an ass before. And to show you how committed I am to this, to us, to you. To always staying by your side and supporting you, no matter what. To show you how much… how much I love you.”

“Steve, we’re already married,” Bucky says, forcing a chuckle. His heart starts racing and he’s desperately trying to figure out what his husband could have possibly done. “You don’t get much more committed than that… So, this fancy dinner date- ?”

“Is part of it. I just wanted to treat you,” Steve finishes, his smile widening as he lets the brunet mull it over for a second. “I did somethin’,” he repeats finally. “D’you wanna see?”

Bucky swallows hard and nods as Steve takes another step back, carefully slipping his shirt over his head.

“You didn’t,” the brunet mutters quietly the second he sees the huge bandage across Steve’s entire chest.

“Just wait,” Steve shushes him, grin growing, and lets out a giddy giggle.

He pulls the bandage off and underneath is the most beautiful chest piece Bucky’s ever seen. There’s his favorite flower, blue hydrangeas, with delicate pastel pink roses mixed in. They’re surrounding a scarily accurate anatomical heart covered in scars, a single small piece of shrapnel sticking out of it and sutures closing up one fresh wound.

Bucky’s mouth is open, eyes wide and starting to tear up as he brings his hand to his mouth. His breath is stuck in his chest and his heart pounds as he takes it all in. He takes a step closer and splays his hand across Steve’s stomach. He knows he has plenty of time for it, but he’s trying to memorize every detail in the piece.

“Do you like it?” Steve asks after a moment, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

The brunet nods quickly and a few stray tears spill down his cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” he breathes, one hand coming up to cup his husband’s cheek as he leans forward and kisses him, hard and passionate, then easing into soft and sweet. “I love you,” he babbles between kisses. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve breathes back every time.

 

*

 

Bucky’s intently scrolling through Pinterest on his laptop when Steve gets home from work a few days later. The blond taps at his chest and whines about the itching of his healing tattoo as he toes off his shoes and Bucky chuckles from where he’s half-paying attention on the couch.

“Rude,” Steve whines playfully, stretching as he locks the door and turns to his husband, “laughing at my pain. Whatcha so focused on babe? You’re not still working, are you?”

Bucky lets out a thoughtful hum and shakes his head, glancing up just briefly as Steve starts across the room. “Remember when I said I was thinking about you doing my first tattoo?”

Steve’s eyes light up a little, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I do,” he says, sitting next to his husband and draping his legs across his lap. “I  _love_  inking up virgin skin,” he says with a seductive tone and a waggle of his eyebrows.

Bucky glances over to him, blushing, and laughs softly, trying to cover the way his heart’s beating a little faster suddenly. “I bet you do,” he teases, but it comes out just slightly breathless. “Do you have any free spots next week?” he asks, trying to get the conversation back on track before it’s too late.

Steve quietly tsks at his husband’s obvious distraction, but he’s still smiling as he leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty decent-sized gap on Tuesday. What were you thinking?” he asks, glancing at the laptop. The screen is filled with tattoos featuring wisteria – Steve’s favorite flower.

Bucky’s cheeks go from pink to crimson and he fidgets with the blond’s pantleg. “I was thinking something to kind of match yours, in a way,” he explains. “Same purpose and the flowers and all that. I was thinking the wisteria with _maybe_  an accent flower - I figured I’d leave that decision up to you, ultimately – and then the quote from Romeo and Juliet, ‘Did my heart love ‘til now?’, maybe on a scroll or something. I thought I’d leave that one up to you too, whatever you think will look best. I’m a writer, not an artist, ya know? So I want you to have the ultimate say in the design itself.” When he manages the nerve to meet his husband’s eyes again, he’s all choked up. “Awh, baby, what is it?”

“I just… I don’t even have words,” Steve murmurs, taking his face in his hands and pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “You trust me with your first tattoo, you’re letting me design it, trusting me completely with  _that_ , and it’s  _for_  me, on top of it all.” He kisses him again and nuzzles their noses together before finally letting go. “I love you  _so_ much,” he says. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Then he changes the subject just as Bucky’s starting to get a little overwhelmed with emotions too. “Where were you thinking? And how big?”

“The top of my chest, on the left, kind of right under my collarbone? You probably know better than me,” he replies, blushing and rubbing at an eye. “A pretty good size. Like this kind of,” he goes on, switching through browser tabs until he finds the picture he’d left up specifically for this part of the conversation. “Oh, will the scars be an issue though?”

“No, not an issue, not for me. Though it might hurt a little more. And yeah, it’ll have to be fairly large to look properly proportioned in that spot,” Steve says thoughtfully, staring at Bucky’s chest. He slides a hand up his husband’s chest and traces a circle around the spot through his shirt. “Like that.” He smiles and meets the other man’s eyes. “I’m gonna get started on it right now.”

 

The first thing Steve does when he gets to work the next day is put Bucky’s appointment in the book. He finishes the design in record time and it’s everything Bucky had dreamed of and more. Before either of them knows it, the day is upon them. The crew whoops and hollers as Bucky comes into the shop - he’s sure it’s because Steve’s told everyone this is his first. A silly thing when you think about how much of his husband’s skin is covered in ink. The commotion is punctuated by a few cat-calls from Angie and Rocket when he takes his shirt off. Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes, trying to play it off even though he’s burning red half-way down his chest.

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve scolds his friends fondly with a roll of his eyes. “And stop ogling my super sexy husband.”

“Never took you for the jealous type,” Rocket teases as Steve starts placing the stencil with a whispered, “Don’t let them smell weakness babe. Not jealous,” he says louder for his friend across the room to hear. “This boy’s all mine, I ain’t worried about that.” Not jealous, no, but Bucky knows Steve has his insecurities and fears just like his own.

Bucky would flush darker if it were possible, he’s sure, and a nervous laugh slips past his lips. “Maybe we should have done this on a Sunday,” he half-jokes.

“Nah, don’t worry about them. They’ll fuck off when I actually start working,” Steve assures him, pressing the stencil firmly to his chest once he has the placement just right. Bucky’s thankful he pretends not to notice him trembling in equal parts excitement and fear. “I love you,” he whispers and kisses him softly.

“I love you too,” Steve replies quietly just before he pushes him gently into the chair.

 

Bucky’s no stranger to pain, and he’s not afraid of it anymore. He remembers the crash too vividly for any of that nonsense, nothing could compare. Still, though, with his husband being his tattoo artist, he’s more prone to being whiney about it, knowing he won’t be judged. Especially when Steve had been right – it hurts worse over the scarring.

“Well,” Steve says, chuckling, as he turns off the machine, “you weren’t a champ about it or anything, but I’ve definitely had worse.” He sets the machine down and changes into a fresh pair of gloves to slather some ointment on it.

“Does it always feel like that?” Bucky asks, wincing a little at the touch. “Like- Like scratching a really bad sunburn or something?”

“Some spots are better and worse than others,” the blond replies, taping up his chest before snapping the gloves off again, “but yeah, basically. Not too bad, I hope.” He presses up on tip-toes to steal a kiss.

“Not too bad, no,” Bucky assures him, taking his hand and kissing him again. “Though I now have a deeper appreciation for every inch of your skin,” he says, his hand letting go to trail up and down Steve’s side, sending a shiver through him.

“I’ve seen little girls take it better than you,” Steve teases, his cheeks pinking up.

“If I can’t be whiney around my husband what’s even the point of you?” Bucky quips back.

Steve bursts out laughing, shoving his husband away lightly and rolling his eyes. “Put your shirt back on,” he says through his laughter, starting to clean up the rest of his station. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Bucky slips his shirt back on and, dreamily, replies, “Yeah, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all _so_ much for reading! I really hope you all enjoyed it!! <3
> 
> Comments and kudos and the like all mean sososososo much to me, really<3 <3 <3
> 
> And, as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com) where I take prompts and requests and such! Let's be friends!<3


End file.
